


The Coming Dusk

by joeyjames (lilyandjoey)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Kissing, Not Canon Compliant, Smoking, identity theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-20
Updated: 2007-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyandjoey/pseuds/joeyjames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy wonders when life got so complicated, and how she got herself into this mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coming Dusk

Pansy sits on the back step at 12 Grimmauld Place, half-smoked roll-up in one hand. She looks out over the tangle of weeds and brambles at the greying sky. She shivers a little and hunches her shoulders, wrapping the skirt of her floor-length black dress more tightly around her legs. She rubs her arms and wishes she had chosen long sleeves today. It was warmer earlier. She knows she wouldn’t be quite so cold if it weren’t for the fact that she has been sitting in the same position on this step for almost six hours. With nothing else to do, she tortures herself by replaying in her mind the events that led up to her stay here.

She stood solid at Dumbledore’s funeral. She put on a brave face and pretended that it didn’t matter that the only man she thought might save her lay dead at the hand of her favourite teacher. She was being watched, she knew, and she couldn’t afford to slip up. Pansy knew that Snape was not meant to have killed Dumbledore – it should have been Draco and they would both pay the price. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she was at risk. Her only hope lay in knowing when and where to run. She didn’t attempt to contact her parents. It would have been futile, and perhaps made things worse. As usual, she gauged the situation by watching her own House.

For a while, it seemed as though she might be safe, Slytherin carried on as normal. It was Millicent who told her otherwise. She came to Pansy’s room in the night, just as she usually did, but this time was different. Millicent slipped in quietly and pulled Pansy into her arms. She kissed her softly on the forehead and Pansy almost began to cry. Millicent was never soft with her.

“Run,” she whispered, and left just as quietly as she had come.

Pansy turned and surveyed her room. It would have been faster to grab a few things and go, but that would also have meant leaving behind many things which could be used against her. Knowing that she didn’t have long, Pansy opened her trunk and used all the packing spells she could think of. She was finished in record time and proceeded to shrink her trunk and put it in her pocket. She had left out only her broom and her cloak for the journey. She turned and looked at her room once again before firing off some industrial strength cleaning charms. Why make it easy for them to find her?

As she flew away from the school that had been her home for the last six years, Pansy racked her brain for a place to go. She thought of Dumbledore and the people he trusted, and knew that this was not going to be fun. The way to safety was through Harry Potter. He was not her favourite person, nor she his. Of course, he was still at Hogwarts, which was a no-go. Suddenly, she knew who to go to. The Auror. Granger’s Auror. Thanking all the gods that she was a nosy, interfering bitch, Pansy steeled herself to do something incredibly stupid.

And so it was that Pansy found herself in the Ministry of Magic, Auror Division. She had boldly walked into the Ministry, allowed her wand to be weighed, and headed up to the Fourth Floor. Having read the sign by the lift, she knew exactly where to go. To her relief, walking up to the Auror and handing her a note which said ‘Hermione sent me’ worked like a charm. She had seen Granger with the Auror often enough to know that something was going on and stored the information away for later use. Admittedly she had thought ‘later use’ would be taunting the Mudblood, not saving her own skin.

So here she was, sitting on the back step of a cloaked house and remembering the terrified look on her girlfriend’s face as she whispered “Run”. Millicent had never been soft with her. She had been stubborn, funny, aggressive, and passionate and hadn’t taken any shit from Pansy, which had been where the attraction started to be honest. She had never been afraid like that. Millicent was six feet tall and solid muscle. She was aggressive in every aspect of her life: in class; with her friends; with her enemies; and most of all in bed. Or in empty corridors. Or under the Quidditch stands. Wherever took her fancy really. Pansy’s mouth twisted into a dirty smile as she remembered her girlfriend’s strong hands. It didn’t last as the image of Millicent’s pale face and haunted eyes came back into view. Millicent was hard as nails and everything Pansy wanted. She wasn’t supposed to be scared.

~~~~~~~

Hermione sits hunched over a book in the library at 12 Grimmauld Place. It is a familiar sight to the eclectic residents, temporary and otherwise. She spends much of her time here, alone, doing seemingly endless research. Into what no one is entirely sure. Hermione can be very evasive when she needs to be. Most people know better than to ask probing questions of fellow members and affiliates of the Order of the Phoenix. They have found that it is better not to know too much. Hermione, of course, disagrees.

Remus watches her from an armchair by the fire. He has a newspaper spread out in front of him, and takes occasional sips from a cup of tea. He hopes Harry will arrive soon. Partly because he knows how badly the Dursleys treat their least favourite relative, but also because Hermione needs a distraction. She needs someone to drag her away from the books for a few hours. His own efforts don’t usually go down too well. Ron and Ginny are visiting Charlie in Romania. It’s funny that Molly thinks they’ll be safer on a dragon reserve than in a house in London. He sighs and steels himself.

“Hermione?” Remus calls gently.

She shows no sign of having heard him. Remus folds up his paper and walks over to her table. He sits on the edge tentatively in a rare free spot of table. Hermione doesn’t seem to notice. She is still bent over her work, hair falling out of her messy bun and into her face. She looks too thin, in an old hand-knit jumper with a large ‘C’ on the front and torn jeans sliding over her narrow hips. Remus wonders when she last ate a proper meal. Though Hermione has never been one for appearances, she is nothing like the neat little girl he met a few short years ago in her pristine uniform. He wonders whether she ever will be again, and it saddens him to know that she probably won’t.

“Hermione?” he tries again.

“Hmm?” she says, looking a little lost.

“Why don’t you take a break for half an hour? Come back at it fresh?”

Hermione looks at her watch and seems a little surprised.

“Yes,” she says, “I’ll go for some fresh air.”

Remus is surprised and relieved at how easy that was. He goes back over to his chair by the fire and continues to drink his tea. He watches the fire and frowns in concentration.

Hermione watches him go; secretly thinking that he needs to get out more too. She stands and stretches slowly, easing out the cramp of six hours solid sat in the same place. She goes out of the library and heads for the back door. She isn’t particularly surprised when she finds Pansy Parkinson sitting on the back step, smoking a cigarette. This has been her favourite place since she arrived three days ago. Hermione notices that Pansy has run out of her pretentious black cigarettes and moved on to roll-ups. She assumes Pansy has found Sirius’ old stash, and wonders whether she found the stuff that was a little less legal.

Wordlessly, Pansy acknowledges Hermione’s presence by offering her a smoke. Hermione takes the proffered cigarette and lights it with her wand. In a way, she is glad Harry isn’t here yet. He’d pitch a fit if he knew she was smoking, but it helps her to relax and her brain hurts from overuse. Hermione smiles wryly as she imagines Harry’s reactions when he arrives in a few days to find Pansy Parkinson staying in what is technically his house.

“What’s so funny?” Pansy asks dryly.

“Just anticipating Harry’s reaction to finding ‘the enemy’ living in his house,” Hermione states truthfully.

Pansy looks pissed off at this.

“I’m not the enemy,” she says blankly, “What happened to ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”

Hermione isn’t quite sure what to say, so she doesn’t. Pansy sighs and watches Hermione take another drag on her cigarette.

“Do we have to go over this again? The Dark Lord wants to kill Draco, I was betrothed to Draco, ergo the Dark Lord wants to kill me. And also, just because I have standards does not mean I’m a homicidal maniac. Clear?”

Hermione looks at Pansy blankly for a moment. She’s never seen her so heated before. She may have been a bitch at school, but Pansy was also something of an ice maiden.

“You were engaged? At school?” Hermione says stupidly.

“We were betrothed. From birth. Do you know nothing about civilised society?”

The two girls sit on the step glaring at each other. They make an odd pair; scruffy Hermione, and Pansy with her straight dark hair and floor length black dress, facing each other down like territorial cats

“I’d hardly call it civilised. The people who arranged your marriage want you dead. And you don’t seem that concerned for your future husband either,” Hermione returns coldly.

“Marriage is a business arrangement,” Pansy says dispassionately, “Why should I care what the silly sod gets up to?”

Hermione looks at Pansy with disbelief. She stubs out her cigarette and gets up.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” Hermione says sadly and goes back inside to the library.

Pansy lights up another cigarette and stares out into the coming dusk.

~~~~~~~

Hermione stands near the back door watching Pansy. She dresses the same as she did at school these past few years; when not in uniform, of course. She has a collection of floor length black dresses which she wears with small sturdy black boots. The dresses vary in shape a little, the sleeves and necklines are different, but in length and colour they are all the same. Hermione wonders if Pansy knows that she looks like something from a Tim Burton film. Probably not. Films are far too Muggle for someone like her to know about.

Hermione remembers when she first saw Pansy in one of her black dresses. She was sitting by the lake with Harry, Ron and Ginny. It was warm for spring, so Hermione took her work outside. Harry, Ron and Ginny were lazily playing catch whilst sitting down. Hermione looked up from her work and saw Pansy Parkinson in the distance. She had grown out her god-awful fringe, and her dark hair was straight to her shoulders. She was heavily made up, with a pale face and big dark eyes. Her dress was long, black and corseted at the top. Hermione snorted.

“She looks like a Goth’s wet dream,” she said scathingly.

Ginny and Harry turned to see what she was looking at. Harry laughed, while Ron stared at her in shock.

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed, scandalized.

“What’s a Goth?” Ginny asked, looking a little lost.

Hermione explained as well as she could, but Ginny didn’t seem to understand. Harry was busy laughing at Ron, who was still gaping like guppy.

Hermione thinks that Pansy looks more like what a Goth wants to be without all the make-up. She’s naturally pale and has dark rings round her eyes from lack of sleep. She floats about the place, all ethereal. Plus she’s a witch, which is an added bonus.

Pansy is actually the only person Mrs. Black seems to like. The mad portrait doesn’t shout at her, like she does at everyone else who dares make a sound. Hermione thinks it’s because Mrs. Black has mistaken Pansy for Bellatrix Black – her favourite niece – come from the past when she was young and still beautiful. Pansy doesn’t say anything to the portrait, she just wanders past looking smug, which probably adds to the illusion.

Hermione isn’t really sure why she thinks about Pansy like this. Possibly because Pansy is elegant and exotic, and Hermione knows that she is not. She sighs to herself and decides to make her presence known. Pansy turns and offers her cigarette. Hermione takes it gratefully.

“What do you do in there all day?” Pansy asks, watching as Granger lights her cigarette.

Hermione looks out at the darkening sky and wonders why it is that it always seems to be dark when she comes out here. She shouldn’t answer the question, but no one has ever asked. She thinks most of them already know, or don’t want to know.

“As you may or may not know, there is a prophecy that my best friend is going to commit murder. What the prophecy doesn’t say is that I’m the one planning it.”

There is such an edge to Granger’s voice that Pansy feels it would be best not to say anything. She looks up at the sky and thinks about her friends from school. In that moment she is angry with the Dark Lord because none of them will ever get to be seventeen. They’re all way past that.

~~~~~~~

The knock on Hermione’s door late one evening doesn’t surprise her much. She is used to late night visitors – or one visitor in particular.

“Come in,” she calls, not looking up from her book.

Her visitor opens the door, walks in and closes it behind her. She walks over to the bed and sits down, uninvited.

“I’ll just finish this paragraph,” Hermione says softly.

A few minutes go by in silence as Hermione reads and Pansy shifts uncomfortably, waiting to be acknowledged. Hermione closes her book, marking her page with a worn leather bookmark, and puts it on the bedside table. She turns to talk to her guest.

“Sorry, I just … Pansy? I, um, what are you doing up here?”

Pansy shifts awkwardly again.

“I was bored, so I thought I’d come and see what you were doing.”

“Oh. I see.”

Hermione looks puzzled, while Pansy shifts and looks at the floor. Hermione knows that something is off here. She runs through what has just happened in her head and knows instantly what it is. The way Pansy moves isn’t right. She’s never been this awkward. Hermione sits next to Pansy on the bed and looks at her. Slowly, Pansy meets Hermione’s gaze and leans in when Hermione does. Hermione moves one hand up into Pansy’s hair as she kisses her and feels her respond in kind. Hermione pulls away gently and stands up.

“Don’t toy with me, Nymphadora,” she says coldly, ands walks out of the room. She closes the door quietly, despite her anger and walks downstairs to the library. Her face is a mask of cold fury. Hermione settles in to work off her rage with an all-nighter. She won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Tonks sits on the floor in Hermione’s room. She cries against the wall wearing a borrowed dress and a borrowed face.

~~~~~~~

Pansy sits on the doorstep, smoking a dead man’s left over tobacco, and thinking about how she ended up in this mess. She wishes she had paid more attention to her former future husband. She knows now that it should have mattered to her that he was increasingly weirder and more distant throughout the year. At the time, she didn’t particularly care. She regrets it now. She should have known that whatever messes he got himself into, he’d pull her in too. She’s seen it often enough with her own parents.

She is pulled out of her melancholy daydreaming when Hermione sits down next to her. Pansy offers her a cigarette, which Hermione wordlessly accepts. It’s only been a few days, but this has become something of a routine. Pansy can’t quite believe that her life now consists of sitting on a stone step, being morose and lonely all day, and occasionally smoking with a scruffy Mudblood she’s never liked.

“It won’t work,” Pansy says before she can stop herself.

Hermione looks at her as though she’s just sprouted an extra head.

“What?”

“Oh, come on! I saw you at dinner. Flirting with that great ape won’t work,” Pansy says, her voice dripping bitterness.

“I was not flirting,” Hermione says stonily, “and he isn’t an ape.”

“Whatever,” Pansy waves her hand dismissively, “but it won’t work. Why are you and your pet Auror mad at each other anyway? It’s not about the werewolf, because you clearly knew she was screwing him.”

Hermione takes a long drag on her cigarette.

“It’s not about Remus;” she admits slowly, “Nymphadora sees us as extension of one person anyway. She doesn’t think it counts as cheating.”

Pansy looks thoughtful.

“Well, you are kind of similar, I suppose. It still sounds messed up. What I meant was, if you want to piss her off, why him? You’re clearly a lesbian. Why not go after me?”

Hermione laughs bitterly and stubs out the remains of her roll-up.

“She’d just feel vindicated.”

Realisation dawns on Pansy and she starts to laugh.

“She ditched you because she’s jealous of me? That’s ridiculous!”

“Did one of your dresses go missing recently?” Hermione asks with an edge to her voice that stops Pansy’s laughter abruptly, “I knew it wasn’t you.”

Pansy doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t. She feels dirty all of a sudden, at the idea of someone else taking her place. Her skin is crawling at the thought of it, and she almost doesn’t notice when Hermione starts talking again.

“Anyway, we’re going to pick up Harry in three days. He’ll be weird about you being here, but he’ll get used to it. I won’t be able to smoke with you anymore.”

Hermione gets up and goes back into the house. Pansy sits on the step, knowing that the more crowded the house gets, the lonelier she’ll be.

“Fuck,” she says quietly.

~~~~~~~

Pansy knows she has to act fast if she wants to do this. And she definitely wants to do this. She’s felt itchy and weird since Hermione told her about the Auror’s impersonation of her. Potter will arrive in a couple of days and it’ll be far too risky. The emptier the house, the better. She spends two hours smoking on the back step, trying to figure out how to execute her little plan. She needs to leave a note for Hermione where the Auror will find it and Hermione won’t. In the end, she decides to drop it ‘accidentally’.

H,

Meet me in the attic at 10.

P.

When Pansy walks past the library, Hermione is sitting at her usual table behind a mountain of books. Her hair is in a knot at the back of her head. She looks pale and tired, dark circles under her eyes and bony fingers twisting on her quill. She is achingly thin and Pansy has a sudden strange urge to force-feed the girl a couple of pies. It hurts to look at her. Pansy pulls herself together and quietly mounts the stairs.

When she walks through the attic door, she sees Hermione already there and smiles to herself at the impossibility. Hermione’s hair is still pulled into that wiry knot, but she’s wearing a different jumper and she looks more alert. And nervous. Pansy walks straight over to her and places a finger on her thin lips.

“Shh,” she says softly, “Don’t talk.”

Pansy pushes Hermione up against the wall and kisses her hard, enjoying the feel of willing lips and tongue on hers. Hermione submits easily and kisses back desperately. Pansy closes her eyes and lets her hands wander. It would be easy to pretend that this is Millicent. That she’s back at Hogwarts with her girlfriend. When she tries it feels all wrong – the body against hers is too thin, too short. The hair in her right hand isn’t long and black and silky; it’s coarse and brown. Millicent would be in control. She’d have Pansy up against the wall and a hand up her skirt by now. She wouldn’t be letting Pansy take the lead.

She could pretend that she is really kissing Hermione, not this cheap imitation, but that feels all wrong too. The woman under her hands is so submissive, and Pansy can’t imagine that of Hermione. She kisses more forcefully at this thought and slides a hand up under the worn jumper that ‘Hermione’ is wearing. She enjoys the moan that she elicits as her hand slips under the bra and cups the breast underneath. Her lips move down to kiss Hermione’s neck and then slowly back up to her ear.

“Close,” she breathes, slowly moving her hand down to Hermione’s side, “but the hips are all wrong …”

She squeezes playfully to emphasize her point and then walks out of the room. Tonks stands alone in shock and confusion. Her legs give way, and she finds herself sitting against the wall. The growing understanding that she has just been played roars in her ears and she starts to cry. For a second time, she sits alone in the dark, tears streaming down a borrowed face, onto borrowed clothes.

Pansy almost skips down the steps. She feels much more like herself, as she goes out to smoke alone, and smile bitterly at the growing dusk.

~~~~~~~

Pansy sits alone on the doorstep, as she has for so many days now. She hates herself for missing Millicent. For having dared to hope that if it came to the crunch, Millicent would follow her. She hates herself for hoping that the Mudblood will still speak to her, still smoke with her, when her precious Harry Potter arrives. She hates herself for needing the contact with another person so badly that she is willing to drop the high standards she has held since she could walk. She wonders whether she should hate herself for having taken revenge on someone on Granger’s behalf, but decides not to. The Mudblood doesn’t know, so it doesn’t count. It was just good Slytherin fun.


End file.
